Where a single pathway led up to a summit covered in clouds.
She could just barely see the flicker of lights up top; the tower was so tall it nearly pierced the golden wards.
She swallowed the taste of bile and asked, ‘I don’t suppose you have a tower down here?’
Up close, the Sacred Citadel did not whisper of magic, like the wind or the old stories Ezer used to read in her borrowed books.
Itsangwith it.
Arawn guided her up the sprawling staircase on the cliffside, and finally to the Citadel’s innermost gates.
Even the icy wind dropped to only a breath of a breeze when they stepped through. And though she could still hear the rumble of war … it felt instantly calmer here.
Quiet.
Like a spell had been cast over the space.
Snowflakes danced lazily above them, landing on a lone tree in the courtyard’s center. It was encased entirely in shimmering ice. It looked ancient, its gnarled branches as white as bone, and bare of any leaves.
Swords had been plunged into the snow around it.
Not hundreds butthousands.Some were gold and some were silver, some were plain while others had fat rubies or gemstones inside their hilts, but every single one had the sigil of the Sacred hammered into their blades, the winged crest of the war eagles.
She glanced at Arawn. ‘What are they for?’
‘The fallen Sacred,’ he said softly. ‘The ones loved and lost. Not just of this war, but of others long forgotten to time.’
He stared at one sword in particular, half his face cast in shadow from the Citadel above. His pale hair had ice formed in the strands, so he almost looked like a form of a god himself.
‘How many?’ Ezer asked.
Arawn blinked, whatever spell he’d been under, broken. ‘How many what?’
‘Lives,’ Ezer said. ‘How many don’t come back each night?’
His eyes darkened. ‘Too many, these days. Sacred magic is a fickle thing. The more we invocate, the more our bodies dwindle over time. But it’s worth the sacrifice.’
Words she wasn’t certain she’d be able to say, when speaking of herself.
She did not wish to die young.
She wanted tolive.To try everything wild and wonderful in life,until she grew old and wrinkled and as wise as the ravens that had saved her.
‘This was a godsblessing,’ Arawn explained. ‘All of it, every stone in its place, granted to an ancient king and queen on only the second Realmbreak, eons ago. A fortress that could never fall. A place to praise the gods on high.’
‘So, it’s real, then,’ Ezer said. ‘The godsblessing.Nomagescelebrate the holiday, but wethink of the blessing as only a story.’
Arawn huffed out a laugh. ‘There are no stories when it comes to the gods. Only truths.’
He led her to the right, to another infernal staircase, and the uppermost cliff where her tower was. Up, they walked, passing statues of the gods’ forms that were littered along the ancient stone railing.
‘In the old lore, the Five could come and go wearing whatever body they pleased,’ Arawn said, ‘whether it be an elderly farmer one day, a beautiful young maiden the next, or sometimes, even a helpless child. Scholars believe it was a way for them toplaywith creating. To show they have no limits, indeed.’
She didn’t need the lore explained to her. She’d studied the gods too many times to count, for there hadn’t been much more to do in her tower but read. But there was something different about a true Sacred speaking the words. Wardlight sparkled down over the statues as they ascended.
‘Aristra, god of Realm,’ Arawn said.
The statue they passed had three faces. Male on one side, female on the other, and a roaring bear’s maw in the middle.
